Ammo Grrrll explores the deep meaning of the RUGER SHIRT. She writes:
Last Wednesday, I had a really good day at the Tactical Range. I’m sure we’ve all had them; you remember all your mechanics and execute well. Your weapon is really sighted in and seems to be almost incapable of missing the x-ring. You are – to use a popular sports figure of speech – IN THE ZONE. That’s when it’s fun. Life being what it is, there are days when you spray and pray, too. Where the harder you “try,” the more tense, inaccurate and frustrated you become, like a poor hitter in a prolonged batting slump.
Afterwards I went grocery shopping, and a middle-aged produce manager at the upscale market noticed my Ruger shirt and started reminiscing about being a kid with a gun in an isolated rural area of Illinois where he was expected to protect his mother when his father was gone on trucking business. He was taught marksmanship and gun safety at age 5. By age 12, he said he could throw a tin can in the air and hit it six times before it hit the ground. In the event of a home invasion, “Participation Trophy” was not going to be good enough.
The Ruger shirt is one of my favorite garments since it is Western-style with two pockets, long sleeves and white, for protection from the Arizona sun. A Marriott Courtyard bartender in the state of Washington spotted it and told me she had a grandson named “Ruger.” I asked if he had a little sister named “Kimber,” and to my surprise, she got the joke. Washington may not be as far gone as feared.
The produce manager and I talked about the impressive Virginia Second Amendment rally. We agreed that the Gun Grabbers will never give up. There are different motives from several nefarious players, but the bottom line is they need a defenseless, disarmed populace to succeed. It will not happen here. Not ever. We are Americans, plain and simple. One of the few things Obama was ever right about is that we “cling” to our guns and our God, although not nearly as bitterly as his comrades cling to their hatred of President Trump. And it was a lie and a slander that we fear “Others.” We recognize no “Others.” We just see Americans; it is the Left that has divided us into ever smaller warring Grievance Groups.
The Gun Grabbers’ first line of attack consists of bald-faced lying. They lump into the stats about “gun violence” suicides, self-defense, and accidents. Heck, I even saw a newspaper report of a funeral in Chicago which was shot up by the mourners – 12, 13 people shot – the funeral being for a career carjacker who picked the wrong car and ended up dead. The “journalist” described the late felon as “killed by gun violence.” No. He was killed by stupidity, evil, and bad luck. He was ENGAGING in violence and lost. It happens.
The article was tellingly vague, but the odds are excellent that the person protecting his BMW was the same race as the dead loser. Otherwise, we would still be hearing about the racist tragedy of it all because the carjacker was surely just about to “turn his life around” and become a cardiologist.
The gun grabbing by the Nazis and the Communists and how that turned out is well documented. But what about the countries that have knuckled under more recently? The Aussies are a tough and admirable people, but they have neither the same constitutional protection nor history as we do. They allowed themselves, at least on paper, to be disarmed. Not here. Not ever. The grandstanding little Attention Hoggs, the pandering politicians, the pint-sized billionaire soda scold who heaped scorn and criticism upon the Texas church hero, will not prevail. Pass all the laws you want restricting our sacred constitutional right to keep and bear arms. Law enforcement will not enforce; gun owners will not comply.
The Canadians are now and always have been willing accomplices in their own serfdom. Face it – their forebears were the ones loyal to the King George Monarchy who preferred to flee rather than fight for liberty. “Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness” is the motto of a free people. “Knuckling under, saying what we’re told to say, and electing soy boys in blackface,” not so much. I’m sorry; my bad. The correct motto – and what a rallying cry it is! – is “From sea to sea.”
Now I hasten to add that I have met very few Canadians whom I haven’t liked personally. Except for being embarrassing tippers, most are hale fellows, well met, extremely nice, and in our gated community, solid and impressive partiers, any one of whom could drink me under the table.
Our Canadian neighbors fought very bravely in the World Wars. Since then…it’s been a long slog toward politically correct serfdom while often maintaining a pathetic kind of fetish, when abroad, to make sure everyone knows they are not – icky poo – Americans. Even as they count on us when they desperately need to jump the queue to get decent and timely medical care, or to spend the winter in our more pleasant southern climes.
Once a couple of decades ago, I entertained at a corporate Christmas Party in Winnipeg, after which the emcee warned people to go to their cars in groups because the night before, three people had been robbed at knifepoint. At first, I honestly thought the emcee was joking.
I was impressed by the sheer determination of a lone assailant to venture out in December when Winnipeg was at least ten thousand degrees below zero. That may have been Centigrade, I’m not sure. I do know that it was disconcerting to be anywhere where Minnesota was SOUTH. Plus, all the cars in the parking lot were plugged in to big headbolt heaters during the banquet. Whispers went around the head table that the perpetrator was described by his victims as a First Nations Person who may have been drunk. That piece of information made it yet more unlikely that an inebriated Mr. Stands With A Knife could have located a vital area to stab that wasn’t swathed in seven layers of down and fleece.
In America, a knife-wielding jackass would have to worry that he could risk being met by someone with a much better weapon, deadly at a safe distance from his knife.
Congratulations, Virginians, on a beautiful Second Amendment rally. I feel pretty safe from the gun grabbers here in gun-friendly Arizona. But should push come to shove, at least in my neighborhood, it is by no means settled science who would be pushed and what would be shoved and where, Eric Swalwell and his nuclear warheads notwithstanding. Little Green Greta fantasizes about walls for mass execution; Bernie Bots gleefully anticipate gulags; Kathy Griffin favors beheading; but only Eric looks forward to nuking his fellow citizens. What comes after dialing it up to eleven?